Why I wasn't here last night
by FPB
Summary: One night, Harry Potter just had enough. He stormed out of the Dursleys' home and just kept walking...


Old Jack Kipsell was a feature at the Cross Keys pub near Whinging Magna in Surrey. Not that he drank much or made any amount of fuss, but he had been going there for decades, everyone knew him, and he was mostly popular. People knew that he was educated - although he was only a retired bus collector on a small pension - and that, when asked, he had a lot to say, especially about music; but he violated their unspoken assumptions and came round for a pint like a normal bloke.

One August day, Jack missed one of his usual days. Of course, the next day his friends were curious; and none the less curious because he looked strangely troubled and hesitant.

"Well, it's sort of... I mean, it's an odd kind of story."

"All right. It's like this. I guess it starts yesterday afternoon when I was listening to Schubert at home with my windows open.

"Now you can say what you like about this next bit, but I think I did the right thing. What happens is, suddenly I notice this boy sitting in the shadow of the copper beech, just listening, and he's listening to my music. Ten minutes afterwards, he's still there. So I invite him in.

"Now I know what you are going to say - you in particular, Chris. Letting a strange young man into my home? Asking for trouble? All I can tell you is that this kid did not look like that. I know, I know, con men and burglars often don't look like that either: but I did not think this boy wanted anything from me. He was just listening to the music.

"So we sat down together and I told him about it. He did not know much about music, but he had good taste. Once or twice he made observations that showed that he understood what Schubert was trying to say.

"He looked very unhappy. Well, you know, I'm not particularly a Samaritan, but here was this kid in my own home looking as if the whole world had fallen on him and left him buried... I mean, not in an obvious way. He wasn't coming on to me with a sob story. I've been around, you know, and I've met one or two of those, and I don't think I can be fooled so easily any more. Quite to the contrary, this kid was holding it back; it just showed in the way he stood and sat and spoke.

"I suppose perhaps I would not have acted as so much of a Samaritan if it hadn't been Schubert I had been playing; and perhaps he would not have unburdened himself either. But there is something about Schubert: more than any other musician, he is, how can I put it, sympathetic. It's like he has felt himself everything bad that can happen in the world, and so, when he turns to you, he looks sad in the right way and you know that he knows how you feel.

"Well, I made some tea and we started talking. He had come on foot all the way from Little Whinging - yeah, no kidding, ten miles - and he was basically lost. It seems that this totally detestable aunt had turned up out of nowhere and he had had all he could stand of his family for a while. Just got up and got out and slammed the door and started walking, never mind what.

"This suggested to me, you know, that it was not just the aunt who had turned up who was the matter. It sounds like she's jus the straw that broke the camel's back, and I tell him so. He just nods and sits there for a while, listening to the music.

"His story came out bit by bit, and then in a rush. He spoke like he was trying to make sense of it for himself, and honestly, it was very strange. I mean, don't get me wrong, I have heard family tragedies before now - Hell, you know, I've had one myself - but this is not the sort of thing you hear in England. It sounded more like some sort of family feud from Sicily or America or somewhere.

"It seems that his parents had been murdered by this big criminal when he was only one, and he had been sent to stay with his mother's sister. No, this was not the terrible aunt who had come to stay and made him run out the front door; but she was nearly as bad. This kid - his name was Harry - seems to have been treated pretty badly by his adopted family.

"Now here is the funny thing, and the thing that makes me wonder whether there isn't something rather nasty hiding in the woodshed. Seems that the criminal who had murdered his parents was recently let out of jail, or something – wait, what Harry said is just that he reappeared. Well, so he turned up again, and he was coming after him - after Harry, I mean. And instead of trying to help him, his adopted family were doing everything in their power to squeeze him out.

"This is the bit that sounded really funny to me. This idea of long-delayed revenges, of people waiting for twenty years to get the children of old enemies - that's just not realistic, is it? At least, it doesn't happen in England, English people don't act like that. And there are a couple of other things... First, the fact that his adopted family hated him and apparently did not care if he lived or died; made me wonder what his actual parents had done to deserve such long-distance hatred. Second, here and there in his conversation I thought I caught a glimpse of _other people_... People who were neither the Big Villain, nor the Big Nasty Adopted Family, and who did not hate Harry - in fact, they were backing him.

"Third and most important, there is his Godfather. Apparently, this man had been in jail himself - unjustly, according to Harry - for most of Harry's childhood. When he came out, it was like a jubilee for poor Harry, because this Sirius - the Godfather - was rich, and fun, and understood him. In fact, he was just like the father he never had. But he was murdered last month in London, it seems, by a woman who was an accomplice of the same villain who had killed his parents. She's in jail now, but the law can't touch her boss. Now it seems that Harry has this feeling that it's kill or be killed, that he has to kill his enemy or he will come after him next. And honestly, if I was in his shoes, so would I.

"The thing with Harry is, you could not talk with him five minutes without realizing that he is a nice kid. A really nice kid. The kind you'd want for a son, if your woman hadn't married the other guy. And the idea that he had to kill this guy and have his murder on his conscience upset him a lot. It was nearly, I would say, as bad as the death of his godfather, which seems to have hurt him even worse than the loss of his parents.

"Still, look at the facts and tell me what you think. There's too many people who have been to jail in this story; too much killing; and too many people whom, according to Harry, the law can't touch. I feel pretty sure that, nice kid or not, Harry comes from some sort of mob background. I think this must be why his adopted family, who sound very respectable people, hated his parents; and that is probably why both his godfather and his enemy seem to have spent so much time in jail. And as I said, this business of families hating each other for decades and murdering each other down the generations, father and son, and Godfather, that is not something that happens in England. But it does happen among the Mafia, from all I hear.

"Of course I wasn't telling Harry that. He was a nice kid, wherever he came from, and besides, he was my guest, and I had sort of taken on a bit of a Samaritan role, to make him feel better. There can be no doubt, wherever he'd come from, he'd had a very miserable life.

"Don't be ridiculous. Of course he did not touch me for anything. I thought I'd told you, I know a thing or two about sob stories and con men by now. In fact, it turned out that money was the one thing he did not need. Both his parents and his godfather left him large bank deposits and some property, and one of his problems was how to avoid his adopted family getting hold of them. Yes, you're right... all this money around an orphan kid is another thing that smells of the mob... Where did it all come from? I hadn't thought of that, but you're right.

"Mostly, Harry wanted to talk about his Godfather. I had Sirius for half an hour: his sense of fun, his smile, the tales he told, how he could always count on him, and his big black dog who followed him wherever he went and got killed together with him. That must have been some dog... It had been his murder that had affected Harry the most - besides, it had happened only a month or so ago, and of course that's hardly time to get over a bereavement, especially if it's sudden and violent. You and I are old enough to know that by now...

"After a while Harry fell silent and went back to listening to the music. We had been having Schubert all the time, and by this time we'd got to the songs.

"Suddenly his attention was held. He asked to hear _Auf dem Wasser zu singen_ again. Then he asked for it again. Then he asked for the text.

"Yes, it's a beautiful song. One of the most beautiful. It goes like this:

Amidst the shimmer of waves as they play

Glideth the little boat like a swan;

Oh, as the stream wends its peace-lulling way

Smoothly so moveth the life of a man;

So as the end of a beautiful day

Red shines the light as on when it began.

Green stands a copse of trees to the West

Whose tops are lit with the setting sun's light;

Green stands a copse of trees to the east

Over the reeds that shine bright before night.

So is the peace of the heavens at rest

Filling a man's soul before it is night.

Heavens, how swiftly, how fleetingly all things

Float in, and shimmer, and shine, and are gone!

Time passes by on its jewel-sparkled wings

And, as you look, it already moved on.

And I shall soon be dissolved in all things

Flying with the wind and the trees and the sun.

"Well, Harry was in tears. I looked at him, and he had great streaks of tears running down his face, and his chest was shaking as if he couldn't stop. And he could not get enough of the song.

"He tried to make sense of his reaction to me... but more to himself, I think. He said that it made sense for him about the death of Sirius... about death, period. About how we are all manifestations of one shimmering light, that appear and disappear into reality... like the birds that fly in and out and are gone. Oh, I don't know that I can altogether explain it, now... I don't know that he himself could... but the thing is, it had reconciled him, for that moment, to all the death in his life. And that was something, you know?

"It was getting very late. Neither of us could believe how late it had got. So he said goodbye to me (after he had cleansed his face, looking rather ashamed of his tears) and went off. I was rather worried about his having to walk ten miles back, but he said not to worry, he could do it easily.

"So that is it. I don't know if I will see the kid again, or what will happen to him. I don't know what is going on, really, or who is right and who is wrong in this gang war he's caught up in. I can tell you I liked him and I hope he comes through unscathed. And I think I helped remove a little grief from his life, for a little while. But anyway, that's why I wasn't here last night."


End file.
